


The Grandeur of Erebor

by DreDri



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, and I am not sorry, it is fluff, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 14:50:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreDri/pseuds/DreDri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He spoke not of the gold in the halls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grandeur of Erebor

**Author's Note:**

> Lokiandmischief : The Hobbit, I'm female, and NC-17 (although you can do lower if you want, I just have no limit). Bilbo/(heirs of Durin)
> 
> If you see any typos just point them out.

The Battle of the Five Armies had all but devastated the already desolate landscape. The corpses of orcs, darrows, humans and elves littered the ground. The first being more prominent as the fallen and injured of the free peoples were moved away, either to the healing tents or to pires. The depressive air around the battle feild was amplified by the silence which accompanied it. Though pained groans could be heard, not much else was. There was no celebration for the reclaiming of Erebor, for the Lonely Mountain had claimed more of Mahal's children. 

 

The three heirs of Durin were laid in the healing tents under the care of the Woodland King himself. The ever watchful Gandalf stood, a stalwart spear outside their tents for five days and four nights. However every so often his eyes would wander to Ravenhill where he could see sometimes the slim figures of elves, or stout dwarves searching for their lost hobbit. He had last been heard there by elven archers; proclaiming the arrival of the eagles. But nothing since, no hide nor hair of the western child had been seen. 

 

In all his years, his millenia Gandalf knew many losses but none seemed to weigh more than the weight of having led such a gentle soul to his death. To any around him, the maiar seemed to age more and more as if only his gnarled staff was keeping him up.  Each day he leaned more heavily upon it, each day that the burglar of the King’s company was missing, the more hope the lost in finding him alive.  It was on the fifth day that a call rang out over the tents.,

 

“We’ve found him!” It was the tired cheer of Bofur who was waving his winged hat furiously. Dwalin was the second to come to Bofur’s side, followed quickly by Gandalf. The sight which greeted him was not a happy one. Half crushed under a warg lay the hobbit, but he was smiling and could do nothing but grip Bofur’s hand as the warg was moved to reveal his snapped right ankle, which was little concequece with his bleeding head, and gouges through his chest.

 

The grim cloud over the camps did not lift however, as the hobbit was kept in the elven camps. As no one was sure how the still unconscious Thorin  would react to the hobbit. Though the king's nephews protested loudly, and often. 

 

It was three days later, with Bilbo falling in and out of consciousness and with the elves waning hope that Thorin awoke. His crystal blue eyes snapped open and focused immediately on Thranduil who tended solemnly to Fili’s wounds. It was the elf king who spoke first.

 

“You sister’s sons have escaped almost unscathed. They shall recover. The youngest, I believe is helping look for more of the dead. While your heir has but a few wounds.” The king stood now, and turned to the now, King Under the Mountain. “However, your hobbit is fading.”

 

Thorin who was by far the most wounded of the three Durins looked to Fili whose grim face offered no comfort. Should Bilbo die, he shall be shamed forever. The Hobbit had done what was needed, he realized this now, but the dragon-sickness had held him fast. He had cast him out, threated death giving him nothing for the home and people he had no need to fight for. The shame burned deep in Thorin's gut at the thought of never being able to beg the hobbit's forgiveness. He knew, also, by his nephews dark look that if the hobbit were to pass he would never be able to fix this. In truth he would be unfit to rule, he was unfit to rule. 

 

“I must see him.” Thorin moved to get up, but was stopped by the swift movements of the Elven king, who then motioned to the other cot which stood across from Fili.

 

“Princes Fili and Kili were adamant he be moved here from my personal camp.” Though the elf’s face seemed impassive, there was a hint of pride that coiled in the undertone. “Lord Elrond is attending him, as his healing is far surpassing my own.”

 

Said elf lorded entered then, Gandalf in tow and gave Thorin a cold smile. “It seems the King has awoken.” Though his tone friendly, Thorin flinched at his words. “Though this may be a gift unto us, as it seems that Mr.Baggins spirit refuses to resurface to his body.”

 

Thorin’s blue eyes met the dancing brown eyes of the half-human elf. Without another word, the elven lord and the maiar lifted the hobbit’s cot between then and shifted him to be next to the king.

 

Thorin took in the face of his bugler, pale and bruised. Though more beautiful than Thorin could have described in one thousand years. He had wronged the hobbit beyond forgiveness, and as he ran a bruised and bloody knuckle across the hobbit cheek he could feel not but joy.

 

“Bilbo.” His voice was rough, and thick with emotion. “I have wronged you so, do not go where I may not follow.” The darrow king moved to sit up and turn to face the hobbit, ignoring the painful pulling of his stitches. He saw not the retreating backs of the elven lords, or the hand Gandalf placed over Fili’s eyes as he placed the darrow prince into a restful sleep, before taking his own leave. “You are my nûlukh*, and I am but 'azahyi*. I can only go where you lead me.” He rested his hands on either side of the hobbit’s face. “I am sorry for all that I ever said to cause you harm, or distress. But do not leave me when we have finally found victory, found a home.”

 

The hobbit did not move, nor flush suddenly with life. Thorin sagged back onto the his own bed and ignored the salt which now stung his eyes. If the hobbit died, Thorin was certain he would follow.

 

Two days passed, and Thorin could not eat nor sleep. Though he was forced to do both by healing draughts and the pleading looks of his nephews. It was however Gandalf which finally struck sense into him, quite literally.

 

“You are mourning him while he still lives,” The wizard looked half tempted to strike the darrow again. “His spirit grows stronger, do not forsake all hope.”

 

It was then Thorin began to speak. Of his family, before and after the sacking of Erebor. He spoke of how his father had carried him on his shoulders as a lad, showing him the wonders of Erebor’s halls. How his grandmother had showed him wonders, many a darrow looked over, in the bioluminescent mushrooms and plants harbored in the large crystal halls. He spoke not of treasure, or the grandeur of Erebor but of the grandeur of sharing it with family, and friends.

 

How he had run through the treasure room, sliding on coins from his tutors with Ferin. How his sister had been and was the most formidable dwarf to have have been born. Then he spoke quietly of Fili’s birth and the joy he felt celebrating with Vili at the sight of his newborn child, and his healthy wife. He spoke of the wonder of holding his second nephew low for his brother to see, and of raising them both to be as they were. He spoke of losing Vili, and his father, and grandfather.

 

He spoke until he felt he had nothing left to tell. And when after what seemed like ages, which was actually just four days he fell silent. Noticing that Kili was asleep, sitting leaned against his brother’s cot, their hands intertwined. He could see the telltale signs of other dwarrows. There was Balin’s pipe and one of Dwalin’s axes propped on a table, which had a nitted sleeve over the axe which caused Thorin to smile.

 

“You know,” came a meek voice. “for all your pain it seems you have a beautiful family.”

 

Thorin’s eyes widened before he found himself staring into Bilbo’s hazel eyes. “Bilbo.” He whispered. “You’re awake!”

 

“Well I had to do something, you had stopped talking.” Came the teasing reply though it took was weak and rough. Thorin frowned then, and turned to his nephews.

 

“Kili!” he barked, and Bilbo laughed a bit when the young Durin stood up straight and yelped out.

 

“It was Fili!”

 

The long suffering sigh which came from Thorin’s lips, only caused the hobbit to laugh more, ending in a hacking cough.

 

“Uncle Bilbo!” He said, voice loud and carrying into the camp because not a few minutes later. Gandalf, Elrond and Thranduil came through the tent’s flap and began to care for him. Calming hiws coughing, and sharing warm smiles with one another, though Thranduil refrained in the latter part. 

 

They moved Bilbo away from the darrow king to be tended to, and as their hands pull from another Bilbo smiled.

 

“Do not go where I may not follow.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> * nûlukh - Moon  
> *'azahyi - The Sea


End file.
